Blood and Asphalt (theme 55)
Title : Blood and Asphalt
Universe : General
Genre : Drama
Rating : PG
Characters : Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson
Word Count : 620
Warnings : none
Summary : In au AU where Dick is Slade's apprentice, the boy comes away from his first encounter with the Batman a little worse for the wear
Blood and Apshalt
Slade throws in the clutch and shifts the vehicle into fifth gear as they accelerate. The headlights illuminate only the pavement directly in front of the vehicle, and the rest of the world fades to dim outlines rushing by on either side in the impenetrable darkness. He spares a moment to wrench his gaze from the road, rushing under the car far faster then the speed limit allows, to the unconscious figure slumped against the window in the passenger seat.
Dick’s lucky he’s unconscious, because he’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up, and this stretch of road Slade’s currently speeding on is rough and uneven, causing the car to jostles it’s passengers on occasion. Dick’s head lolls lifelessly back on his shoulders, split lips parted and seeping blood. He still has his domino mask on, but the whiteout lenses have been shattered from a blow to the head, and his left cheekbone is marked with a dark, angry bruise that’s only going to deepen in colour over the next few hours. The costume he wears is orange and black, Slade’s own colours, and is torn in a handful of places, exposing broken skin and more bruises. At least his nose isn’t broken, because Slade wouldn’t want anything to permanently mar his young apprentice’s pretty face.
Dick’s comm had been silent for nearly twenty minutes by the time Deathstroke decided to begin searching for him, and Slade had found the boy a couple of blocks away from his last known location, laying half hidden behind a dumpster in the same alleyway his confrontation had taken place. The Bat had obviously left the boy where he knew Slade would find him but would be easily overlooked by any casual passerby. A quick assessment of Dick’s condition had revealed a multitude of broken ribs, shattered from various vicious kicks and blows to his torso. Slade also suspects that one of the kid’s wrists is fractured, if not broken, but it’s difficult to tell under the swelling of the joint exactly how bad the damage is until he can get Dick home to x-ray the limb.
Slade’s apprentice is lucky to have escaped his first encounter with Gotham’s infamous vigilante, the Batman, with nothing more then a handful of broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a ton of small cuts and bruises, because better fighters then this kid have come out in far worse shape.
But Dick won’t feel very lucky when he wakes up, and maybe the pain will serve as a reminder next time he tries to defy Slade’s orders and take on an adversary that’s out of his league. He’s got plenty of courage and talent, and the potential to make a formidable mercenary if he survives the years of training it takes to create such a weapon, but the scant few months of experience he’s had haven’t been enough to craft the ruthless killer he can one day become, and the soft, broken boy laying half slumped in the passenger seat of Slade’s car is a long way from the hardened man his master is training him to become.
The pavement whips under the hood and the yellow lines painted onto the asphalt become a blur. Slade’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch the boy. The fog on the window where Dick’s breath is misting against the glass proves that he’s still alive, still breathing, and until Slade can get him back home and administer medical attention, there’s nothing the older man can do for his wounded charge.
So Slade tightens his grip, presses his foot down on the gas, and watches the miles speed past.
Universe : General
Genre : Drama
Rating : PG
Characters : Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson
Word Count : 620
Warnings : none
Summary : In au AU where Dick is Slade's apprentice, the boy comes away from his first encounter with the Batman a little worse for the wear
Blood and Apshalt
Slade throws in the clutch and shifts the vehicle into fifth gear as they accelerate. The headlights illuminate only the pavement directly in front of the vehicle, and the rest of the world fades to dim outlines rushing by on either side in the impenetrable darkness. He spares a moment to wrench his gaze from the road, rushing under the car far faster then the speed limit allows, to the unconscious figure slumped against the window in the passenger seat.
Dick’s lucky he’s unconscious, because he’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up, and this stretch of road Slade’s currently speeding on is rough and uneven, causing the car to jostles it’s passengers on occasion. Dick’s head lolls lifelessly back on his shoulders, split lips parted and seeping blood. He still has his domino mask on, but the whiteout lenses have been shattered from a blow to the head, and his left cheekbone is marked with a dark, angry bruise that’s only going to deepen in colour over the next few hours. The costume he wears is orange and black, Slade’s own colours, and is torn in a handful of places, exposing broken skin and more bruises. At least his nose isn’t broken, because Slade wouldn’t want anything to permanently mar his young apprentice’s pretty face.
Dick’s comm had been silent for nearly twenty minutes by the time Deathstroke decided to begin searching for him, and Slade had found the boy a couple of blocks away from his last known location, laying half hidden behind a dumpster in the same alleyway his confrontation had taken place. The Bat had obviously left the boy where he knew Slade would find him but would be easily overlooked by any casual passerby. A quick assessment of Dick’s condition had revealed a multitude of broken ribs, shattered from various vicious kicks and blows to his torso. Slade also suspects that one of the kid’s wrists is fractured, if not broken, but it’s difficult to tell under the swelling of the joint exactly how bad the damage is until he can get Dick home to x-ray the limb.
Slade’s apprentice is lucky to have escaped his first encounter with Gotham’s infamous vigilante, the Batman, with nothing more then a handful of broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a ton of small cuts and bruises, because better fighters then this kid have come out in far worse shape.
But Dick won’t feel very lucky when he wakes up, and maybe the pain will serve as a reminder next time he tries to defy Slade’s orders and take on an adversary that’s out of his league. He’s got plenty of courage and talent, and the potential to make a formidable mercenary if he survives the years of training it takes to create such a weapon, but the scant few months of experience he’s had haven’t been enough to craft the ruthless killer he can one day become, and the soft, broken boy laying half slumped in the passenger seat of Slade’s car is a long way from the hardened man his master is training him to become.
The pavement whips under the hood and the yellow lines painted onto the asphalt become a blur. Slade’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch the boy. The fog on the window where Dick’s breath is misting against the glass proves that he’s still alive, still breathing, and until Slade can get him back home and administer medical attention, there’s nothing the older man can do for his wounded charge.
So Slade tightens his grip, presses his foot down on the gas, and watches the miles speed past.